


Full of Scorpions is my Mind

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry, LMDs are trouble, MCD (off screen), Some kind of depressing coda I had to get out of my system, Welcome to my dark side, likely (hopefully) won't actually happen in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9402323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: A sort of dark and depressing Season 4B coda thing.[It's one of those times where my mind comes up with a super dark theory that's probably not even very likely, but I have to get it out of my system. It's like a coping mechanism. Sort of "Hey, at least I can do it on my own terms."]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilsciencequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/gifts).



> For AgentsofSuperwholocked, because [you kinda asked for it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9326552/comments/90364862) and because I felt like taking [your fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9388883) one evil step further... HAR HAR HAR!

She opens her eyes slowly. Seeing her gentle brown irises looking back at him feels like a stab to his heart.

“Fitz?” she asks quietly, slightly disoriented.

He blinks away tears. His lips tremble. It seems like a bad idea now. It always seemed like a bad idea. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Fitz, what’s wrong?” she asks, full of concern.

He stays silent while his mind races, bombarding him with images, her body, covered in blood, shocked expressions on people’s faces.

“Fitz?” she repeats, pleading.

“She’s dead.” His reply is barely above a whisper. His heart beats rapidly in his chest and he wishes it would stop altogether. He can’t take his eyes off hers, hazel, wide-eyed, shocked, confused.

“What?” she mutters. “Who? What? What happened? We were just—”

“She was so mad when she found out,” Fitz mumbles to himself. “Suspended me. Went there alone, just two men as backup. And they killed them all.”

“Fitz?”

He knows she doesn’t understand. There’s no way she could.

“AIDA shot them. Just like that. Radcliffe programmed her to.”

He blinks, tired, exhausted, drained of all feelings and emotions, except for guilt.

“It’s all my fault.”

“Fitz, stop,” she says. “You’re scaring me.”

She takes a step closer and intuitively he takes one back. He can’t let her get close.

“Fitz, what’s happened? Who died? When? When did that happen? Who is AIDA? We were just in the lab and you showed me The Framework and the transcranial apparatus you built and now—” She looks around, taking in her surroundings. “Where are we? Why are we not in the lab anymore?” she asks quietly, realizing that something is off.

“Jemma,” he says and a fist clenches down on his heart.

“Fitz, please tell me what happened,” she pleads.

“Jemma’s dead,” he whispers. His breath is shaky as he tries to suppress another wave of grief and tears flooding his body and mind.

She inhales quickly, holds her breath in shock. Her eyes are confused, wide-eyed. “What?” she mutters. “Fitz. That’s not funny.” She takes a few steps back until her hand finds a table to lean on.

“She was so mad. She went alone. AIDA shot her. Shot them. She’s dead. Jemma’s dead. It’s all my fault.” He repeats the only thoughts that have run through his head for days.

“ _Stop!_ ” she pleads. “Why would you say this? Why? It doesn’t make any sense. Fitz? What’s going on? Why would you—”

“I built you to protect her,” he says, gesturing at her. “But you weren’t done yet.” He’s breathing heavily and every breath he takes feels undeserved. He chuckles sadly. “And she wouldn’t have used you anyway.” His gaze falls to the floor. “I did everything wrong. Everything. And now she’s… and she was so mad… and now… I’m… It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

“You built me?” Her quiet trembling voice interrupts him. He looks up and sees tears in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You’re an android. A decoy,” Fitz explains quietly. “I wanted to protect her. AIDA was a test. And we thought she went rogue, but she didn’t. It was all Radcliffe. You would have worked. You could have saved her. But you weren’t done yet.”

Her lips are quivering, and her teary eyes wander to the floor. She shakes her head. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.” She looks up at him and continues in a louder, more confident voice. “I remember everything. I feel everything. I think. Why would you make up such a lie? Such a _ridiculous_ story? What’s going on here? _Who_ are you?”

“Those are _her_ memories,” he yells, louder than he had wanted to. “ _Her_ memories. _Her_ feelings. _Her_ thoughts. You’re _programmed_ to be like her, feel like her, think like her. I used her brain scans to build your program. Why do you think the last thing you remember is using The Framework? Because _that’s_ the last brain scan I have from her. You don’t remember AIDA, or AIDA’s betrayal, or Radcliffe’s, or that Daisy is back, or Robbie, or Eli Morrow, or that Mace has been a fraud, because _you weren’t there for it_! Your last memories are _two_ weeks old. _Her_ memories. _Her_ feelings. _Her_ thoughts.”

“No,” she whimpers, trying to hold back tears. “No. You’re lying. I don’t know why. I don’t know who you are, but you’re lying.”

Angrily, he picks up a tablet from the table. He activates it and takes a few steps closer to her, holding the image in front of her face.

He can see the shock in her eyes, feels her nausea over seeing Jemma’s lifeless body lying in a puddle of blood.

“That’s not me,” she whispers, clenching her jaw.

“No, it’s not,” he replies sternly. “ _That’s_ you,” he adds and swipes across the tablet to reveal her design.

“Why tell me?” she asks confused. “Why activate me?”

He puts the tablet back on the table, before leaning against the smooth surface with both hands.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, staring at an undefined spot in front of him. “I needed to hear her voice. Look into her eyes. Tell her I’m sorry. That I did everything wrong. Everything.”

He closes his eyes, letting his tears run down his cheeks.

“But you’re not her,” he continues, his eyes still closed. “You can’t forgive me. And you shouldn’t. _She_ shouldn’t.”

He pushes away from the table, taking in a few deep breaths. Then he looks at her. “I don’t know why anymore,” he tells her. “It’s not gonna change anything. _Nothing_ will change it.”

He looks at the tablet and grabs it, determined to put an end to it all.

“No!” she exclaims, taking a few steps closer to cover the screen of his tablet with her hand. She looks at him. He can see her searching for his eyes, but he avoids her, _has to_ avoid her. “You can’t just shut me off,” she pleads. “I have her memories, her feelings, her thoughts. But they’re also _mine_. _I_ remember. _I_ feel. _I_ think. Please, don’t take that away from me.”

He looks at her. Her brown wavy hair framing her face. Her freckles barely noticeable underneath her subtle makeup. Her quivering pink lips. The familiar brown eyes, sad, pleading, confused, fearful and yet gentle and loving.

“I’m _not_ her,” she whispers. “But I’m here. I’m _me_. And part of me _is_ her. And that part knows that… she would forgive you, even if maybe she shouldn’t.”

“Stop,” he begs.

“No, I won’t,” she says determined, putting her hand on his arm. “She would want you to hear this.”

“Don’t,” he growls through his teeth, and shakes off her hand, taking a few steps away. “You’re _not_ her. You have _no right_ to say this. You don’t know what happened between us in the last few weeks. You don’t know what she felt for me in the end.”

“But I know what she felt for you _every_ day until then,” she yells. “I know that she would never want you to feel gui—”

“Well, it’s not up to her to decide,” he says quietly, his finger still pressing the button that powered her off. “And it’s not up to you either.”

He looks at her. Her head is tilted forward. Her arms hang straight at her sides. Her eyes are closed.

She could be alive if he turned her back on. She could remember, think, feel. And yet, she would still be artificial, empty, lifeless.

In a way, he feels like her. He stands in an empty room. His is the only heart beating. The only body breathing. Thinking. Feeling.

He’s alive but dead inside. Devoid of all feelings. All except one. It devours him, poisons him, creeps into every vein, every cell.

He looks at the tablet in his hands.

Where was _his_ off button?

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Macbeth, Act III, Scene II. Basically a metaphor for a guilty conscious


End file.
